Firestorm: Stripes

"Alright! Oi got my bollocks booted for that little jaunt down south! An' the Tankers 'ave went back west to resupply!" Captain Slater informed the assembled Diggers, who give a sarcastic round of applause in response. "Yeah yeah. So, to make up for it, we've been tasked with 'olding this road an' prevent the Ruskies pushin' through to Hamburg an' beyond. The Yanks are a bit north of here, pushin' them back too. If we 'old off whatever's comin' our way, this moight do wonders for morale... as well as keepin' some tanks off the front loine!" He slapped the back of his hand on the map he was holding as the squaddies gave a more rousing cheer in response.

The cheer died down as the sound of rotors grew in the air, sounding like it was heading straight for them. A moment later, a trio of Westland Lynx helicopters appeared over the tree-lines to the west.
"Clear the square, they're comin' in!" Slater commanded, the men grabbing their kit and making room, many heading into the beautiful 'Parkplatz' in the centre of town. Slater watched as the helicopters hover overhead, before descending gracefully, coming to a halt, spread over the cobbles.

Out of the helicopters jumped familiar looking men; Lieutenant Thapa's Ghurka Brigade began assembling nearby. Slater noted that they had gotten their hands on some Milan missiles to replace the slightly unwieldy and less impactful Karl Gustavs.

"मलाई परवाह छैन यदि तपाईं airsick मिल्यो! स्थितिमा जानुहोस्, रगत खत्तम! " Thapa yelled at one queasy looking soldier, lugging a GPMG into a nearby cafe. The officer's demeanour changed immediately when he recognised Slater, from hard and commanding to disarming and smiling. "We got told the Kangaroos needed some help again. They could not stop us coming, sir. Even if it meant flying in the hēlikapṭara." He snapped a smart salute off, which Slater returned lazily.

"Sure, good to see you again Thapa..." Slater gave him a slightly warmer, friendlier handshake in return. "You guys seem to know what you're doin'. Don't know what's comin', but if you see it, shoot it. Easy enough?"

"Oh yes sir. Easy enough. We will put our new toys to good use. We won't let you down, sir." The Nepali man nodding enthusiastically, before returning to his men to yell them into positions as the helicopters took to the air once more.

The rumble of engines slowly grew louder north of the town, Slater taking up a position near the cenotaph in the Town Square.

"Jus' a little further..." He growled to himself as he watched a few armoured vehicles roll into sight, BMPs, their turrets still, unaware of the impending fire.
But, just as Slater was about to give the order, one of the lead T-72s opened fire, followed by the rest of the battalion. The rounds blowing chunks of masonry out of the upper floors of the clock tower. "F***! Fire! Milan troop, fire!" He barked into the comms. He'd wanted to wait to get the jump on the tanks, but their opening salvo had left him no choice.
Missiles streaked from the windows high above him, two tanks catching the shots on their front; the angle allowing them to punch straight through, leaving burning wrecks behind.

As the missiles engaged, the air suddenly filled with the loud, echoing crack of HESH rounds beside the church. There were the sounds of shot being fired, but disappointingly, no sound of impact on anything metallic, only the distant *thud* of shot hitting mud far off in the distance.

"Mike troop, report status!" He demanded, having to cover his ears as more rounds impacted above him, the entire side of one of the floors of the tower blown away. He could see a figure being dragged back from the opening, probably wounded, likely dead. "Repeat last!" He yelled, the transmission barely audible over the whine of Milans streaking out from above him, and the Gurkhas now joining in the action.

"Mike-Three is hit, but it's a jam in the turret! Gonna lair it up 'ere, an' give 'em a HESH prezzy..." Sergeant Hunter's crackled reply was just about heard, before the rounds started flying again. This time there was the unmistakable sound of HEAT rounds impacting on metal, a plume of black smoke drifting over the church confirming that the BMPs had been dealt a nasty blow.

Back ahead of him, there was a snarling, roaring sound, like a caged animal. A brief check showed that it was in actuality a pair of BMPs and a pair of T-72s getting caught up on a tall concrete wall. The suffering of the T-72s didn't last long though, as Milan missiles spiralled from the Clock Tower, getting revenge for the earlier damage.

"Is that it?" Slater thought to himself, as the roar of aircraft engines echoed around the square. "Ah..."

The aircraft roared overhead, the brief glance at them confirming them to be, thankfully, RAF. A buzzing round of fire suddenly flared up from behind the train station. A pair of hidden Shilkas engaging the aircraft. One of the planes taking a few nasty hits, sending it veering off course and out of sight, as the others pressed home the attack.

There was a moment of silence as Slater watched the bombs fall, before a wall of flame rose up from the distant positions. A few more cracks from the HESH rounds, and suddenly the town was quiet. The Soviets were pulling back.

"Did we draw the Weekend Warriors?" Slater thought aloud, the men in the nearby buildings calling to each other as the firing stopped and calm returned.